


Sing Us A Song Tonight

by nuthinduan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Singing, but then it wasn't, mentions of unmentionables, this was meant to be happier, until the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuthinduan/pseuds/nuthinduan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At some point, singing became important to Stiles. Or maybe just melodical sounds. Either way, it seems to have become subtly present in everything he does. Sort of like Derek. Except Derek isn't subtle, like, at all. Stiles would be annoyed if he wasn't too busy falling for the guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Us A Song Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write a kink meme fill but got frustrated, so I had a friend give me prompts. This was written for the prompt 'singing'. This is also a lot of firsts. My first Teen Wolf fic, my first fic posted to AO3, my first fic finished, and my first fic posted since... God, since my freshman year of high school? So yes. I am nervous about this.

Stiles has a history of singing in the shower. It’s not enough to run shampoo through his hair, or lather himself with soap suds. He has to stay occupied, otherwise showers get boring _real_ fast. Not that showers are meant to be particularly stimulating (unless they _are_ , but that’s a different subject entirely). Okay, so maybe the ‘keeping him occupied’ is an excuse for falling into some lame cliché, but at least he doesn’t sing into the loofa.

Well, not anymore.

He sings whatever comes to mind first. Sometimes it’s a classic rock ballad, but he avoided those theatrical productions ever since he fell in the shower and broke his wrist. In order to keep his pride intact, he only resorted to the classics if nothing else could pop into his head. Sometimes, like now, it was something ridiculous and a little too Pop Culture for Stiles’ taste. The notes of “Call Me Maybe” hadn’t left his head all morning, and Stiles figured the only way to get rid of it was to shower and sing it out.

He doesn’t know Derek’s there until there’s a snort and a choke that Stiles will later assume was Derek’s inability to _actually_ laugh. He nearly falls over, heels slipping, arms pinwheeling as he tries to regain his balance—it’s a terrifying flashback to the broken wrist. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Derek sneaking up on him, but the guy could have waited in the bedroom! It wasn’t like he couldn’t hear Stiles’ embarrassing secret from in there and torment him about it later. Stiles thinks he should analyze why he’s not freaking out _more_ about the big bad alpha being in his bathroom while he’s showering. Instead, once he’s gained his balance, he pokes his head out around the shower curtain, frowning in such a way as to rival Derek on a tame day (he’s given up rivaling Derek on a bad day—no one can get that level of grumpy).

“Is there a reason you’re in a bathroom with a very naked, underage boy? Is there something you want to share, Derek?” It’s a joke made in poor taste, but Stiles can’t really think of anything to save his dignity so he just rolls with it.

“Mm, yeah.” Derek grins and Stiles’ frown deepens. Derek doesn’t grin unless something nefarious is happening. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs. Pack meeting. Thought you should know.”

Stiles groans and shuts the shower curtain, leaning against the wall before sliding down. Of course everyone heard him.

Fucking werewolves.

 

~

 

Sometimes the singing has less to do with keeping him amused and more to do with distracting him. There are days—even though they get fewer and farther between as the months go by—where all he can see is blood and death and Peter Hale leaning down to bite him. On those days he hums to himself—so not exactly singing, but the principle is the same. He hums as he wanders around the house or drives in his jeep. On rare occasions he’ll be with the pack, doing training and he’ll hum something upbeat and catchy that will have everyone growling at him in agitation, because there’s nowhere they can effectively go that they can’t hear him.

This is… different. He’s never done this before, never hummed to take away someone else’s pain. But Derek had shown up at his window, half wolfed-out and eyes blown wide, for what reason Stiles only half learns why. The alpha is stepping into his room before Stiles can even begin to protest, taking the teen in his arms. The only logical response Stiles can think to have is to sputter and flail, albeit in a limited fashion. Derek only tightens his hold, burying his nose into the junction between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. Stiles has never gotten used to being scented. He thinks he likes it, but then again, it’s only ever been Derek and there are certain things you don’t mind a perfectly-toned man doing to you. Apparently sniffing your neck is one of them.

“Alphas. Had your scent. Was worried.”

Stiles isn’t sure what to respond to first: the fact that worry over Stiles has caused this sort of reaction in Derek or the fact that the alphas had his scent. He doesn’t get a chance to choose, because all of a sudden Derek is gasping against his throat and Stiles knows exactly what’s happening. He pulls at Derek until they’re sitting on the bed, Stiles up against his headboard, and Derek’s back pressed against his chest. Stiles rubs soothing circles on Derek’s arms, chest, anything he can reach, while also breathing in and out, in and out, in an attempt to help Derek regulate his own.

When it seems like Derek has come back from whatever precipice he was about to tumble over, Stiles begins to hum a lullaby his mother used to sing to him. He doesn’t know if this is what Derek wants—how can he? They’ve never done this before, never been this close. It’s something altogether strange to Stiles, but… He knows what it feels like to struggle with something—something that you can’t tell anyone because no matter how close you are, they just won’t _understand_. Stiles has a feeling that whatever reaction Derek is having now is related to losing everyone he loved.

But what does that have to do with Stiles?

 

~

 

Stiles discovers one day that Derek is a sing-in-the-shower-type as well. Nothing quite as dramatic as  Stiles’ own self-attended concerts, but it’s amusing nonetheless. Derek goes for soft, blues-y songs that Stiles doesn’t recognize but feels he wants to know after he hears their deep, baritone sounds filtered through Derek’s voice. He realizes, in that moment, he wants to have sex with Derek Hale. God, he wants that voice moaning his name, as Derek pushes into him, or he pushes into Derek. He wants to _make love_ to Derek Hale, and they aren’t even dating, will _never_ be dating because let’s be real. Stiles is Stiles and Derek is Derek. They exist on two separate planes of being, only allowed to speak out of the necessity to save lives.

His arousal gives him away (how Derek hadn’t heard him shouting up the stairs with his freaky werewolf hearing, Stiles doesn’t know) and soon the voice cuts off mid-note. Stiles wants to make a joke, the same way Derek had when he caught Stiles in the act two months ago. He can’t, though. A lump has formed in his throat and he’s so hard it _hurts_ , and that’s just from the sound of Derek singing. He briefly wonders how this became his life before turning tail and running back down the stairs.

He’s not surprised when Derek is waiting outside the front door, towel wrapped casually around his waist as if he didn’t come from the second floor (Stiles still has trouble remembering the second floor is livable). Derek stares at him, hard, inhales loudly as if Stiles needed a fucking announcement about how obvious his desires are to the wolf. And for a terrifying moment he’s scared that that’s what this is; Derek’s wolf coming to claim him because it has animal instincts while Derek the Human is on the inside screaming abuse.

Derek makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a hum, but… it can’t be. Because that would be really out of place at this juncture. Except then he makes it again, and the sound is a low rumble in Derek’s throat but it goes straight to Stiles’ dick. He makes a noise akin to a duck or maybe a dying cat and tries to find the least embarrassing way to fold in on himself. He’s not sure how to deal with this—he was in love with an oblivious Lydia Martin for so long that he’s not sure what to do when faced with someone _extremely_ aware of his attraction to them.

It feels like ages before Derek finally says, “You’re underage.”

Stiles nods, because yes, he is. But he’s not sure what to do with this declaration. Is that his rejection? Is that the only complaint? Stiles thinks he’s doing fairly well for himself if it is.

“Your father is the sheriff, your best friend refuses to be in my pack, you constantly cause me problems, and you _smell like them_.” Ah, there it is. The list is revealed, though what the hell Derek means by ‘them’ Stiles isn’t sure.

“Who is ‘them’?” he asks, using air quotes for emphasis.

Derek growls and averts his gaze for a moment. When he looks back at Stiles, his eyes are shifting, green to red, but he looks… sad. Not angry, just sort of lost. Something pulls at Stiles’ gut and he moves forward until his arms are wrapping around Derek. He’s never been the hugging type—he and Scott are manly bros and his dad is a cop—but this feels… right. He runs one of his hands through the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck and begins humming the same lullaby his mother would sing him.

“Laura. My mother. Peter. You smell like family, Stiles, and I don’t know _why_.”

Stiles thinks he knows why, but he keeps it to himself.

 

~

 

Stiles researches the wolf mating for a week. He keeps his findings and his suspicions to himself while he processes the concept ‘for life’ and what that means in relation to him and Derek. He knows he’s felt a pull—like when he needed to comfort Derek or every time he came running just because Derek called. He had always chalked it up to being a good person or wanting the moral high ground. But in light of some… new evidence, he had a feeling that whatever this was, this _thing_ between him and Derek, it was mutual. And supernatural in nature.

Stiles wants to be happy about it, wants to dance and sing at the prospect of someone being tied to him for life. Except, then he gets to thinking about how Derek doesn’t seem to have much of a choice, he is just inexplicably drawn towards Stiles. That made the teen feel a wee bit squicky. He tries to ignore it, the part of him that says Derek deserves what little time to himself he has left before getting stuck with Stiles. Because Stiles is on a no self-deprecation diet. It’s hard though, and if his mind slips there, it does so against Stiles’ most ardent wishes.

Meanwhile, Derek comes into his room at odd hours of the night, looking for him for stupid reasons. Stiles knows why, but he’s not sure Derek does and he doesn’t want to be the one to break the news. It should be a werewolf’s self-discovery. Like Derek hasn’t had dozens of self-discoveries in the last ten years, with no family to guide him through life (except for Laura, but there were things girls and guys just didn’t have in common).

Stiles is spinning around his room, singing the chorus to ‘Everybody Talks’ when Derek slides through his window looking particularly shaken up. It unnerves Stiles, the number of times Derek has let that mask of indifference slip in front of him over the last six months. Stiles knows what that means—the trust that’s being placed with him—and he almost wants to reject the responsibility. Except he can’t because  Derek isn’t even aware he’s doing it and—

“We need to talk,” Derek says, not cutting any corners with bullshit about needing a specific species of fae tracked down or another pack located.

“Okay,” is all Stiles says in response, because what is he supposed to say? “Don’t bother Derek, I know you want me to be with you forever and for us to have werewolf babies”?

“I think…” Derek starts, pacing back and forth from the window to the door. Stiles just observes from his computer chair, lounging in an attempt to seem nonchalant. He thinks Derek is gonna crack and tell him, finally, what it is that Stiles has been waiting to hear. Instead, he mutters, “I can’t do this” before jumping back out the way he came.

Stiles doesn’t cry because that’s just not who he is. He does sing himself to sleep, though.

 

~

 

What finally pulls a confession, of sorts, out of Derek is Stiles’ near-death experience at the hands of a crazed hunter (what else is new?). He doesn’t mean to end up alone and defenseless in the dead of night—it’s a tragic consequence of being human. Scott was always with Allison or Isaac (or both), Jackson with Lydia, Erica with Boyd. He had gone to Jungle for… reasons. Because Danny needed a wingman and what was Stiles if not someone else’s wingman, right? Also, _maybe_ Stiles was trying to evaluate his heterosexuality (or lack thereof, as the case may be). Except everywhere he looked there were sweaty, intimidating guys who were not Derek Hale and Stiles was unhappy.

He leaves early, telling Danny his dad called with an emergency before walking out, into the parking lot. The man is waiting at his jeep, as if he _knew_ Stiles would come out alone. Stiles considers doubling back when, all of a sudden, there’s a sharp pain in his neck and he’s dropping to the ground. He wakes up hours later in a basement, and he tries not to think of how this is just his life now. Kidnapping. Basements. Crazy werewolf hunters.  The torture Stiles goes through involves a lot of electricity, knives, and wolfsbane, because the asshole thinks he’s a werewolf, and doesn’t believe otherwise, even when the wolfsbane has no effect. It just convinces him Stiles is a stronger breed of wolf. When Derek finally finds him, Stiles is delirious with pain and thinks he’s seeing things. After all, Chris Argent and Derek Hale do not belong in the same room, unless locked in a fight to the death.

He wakes up in a bed that belongs neither to himself, or to a hospital. There is something warm pressing against his side and at first he wonders if it’s Scott. When he goes to sit up, there is a growl from the warm spot and he knows it’s Derek. There is an arm snaking its way around his waist and pulling him close. His whole body protests even the slightest of tugs, his muscles aching from hours of abuse, so he doesn’t resist, just lets Derek hold him. He hears what sounds like a deep, consistent rumble coming from the alpha—it’s another two minutes before he can recognize the different notes  and realize he’s being _hummed_ _to_. Well, this is a nice change of pace. Stiles easily slips back into sleep.

When he wakes up again, Derek’s face is buried in his neck and at first he thinks the werewolf is sniffing him again. That is, until he feels a wet, tugging sensation and Stiles pulls away frantically, limbs flailing as he rolls off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s all the way across the room, ass on the ground, back against the wall, one hand on his neck and the other on his quickly-hardening cock.

“Dude! _Consent_?!” he exclaims, voice nearly breaking at the end of the word. But when he looks up Derek is kneeling in front of him, breathe ragged and eyes blood-red.  

“Stiles…” Derek leans forward into his space until their lips are brushing in an unexpectedly gentle display of affection. Until all of a sudden it isn’t anymore, and Derek is pushing roughly against him, pulling him up until he’s standing so as to get better access to him. Stiles remembers thinking that this is not _talking_ there was still no consent involved in this. Derek has terrible manners. But then he’s grabbing Derek’s face with his hands, pulling him closer. The kiss is… it’s amazing. God, Stiles had never thought someone else’s mouth could taste so good, but Derek.

Later he’ll analyze how he went from being in love with breasts and strawberry-blonde hair, to stubble and being shoved into things. For now, he’s busy.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles remembers that breathing is required for him. He’s human and weak and all at once his body remembers that it’s still in a lot of pain. A soft “ow” escapes his lips and he can seen when Derek tenses to move away. But Stiles links his hands behind Derek’s neck and pulls him down for another, softer kiss.

“We should talk about this,” he says to Derek, panting.

“What’s there to talk about?” Derek counters, and Stiles supposes he has a point. They both know what this is. And even if Stiles hasn’t explicitly said yes—he will, because it’s important, but he also knows Derek will ask for it, multiple times—he’s in this for the long hall. For once, Stiles is out of words. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he knows that there are things he should be worried about (his dad, his medication, _his friends_ ). He figures he should give himself this, in light of what his life has become.

“You’re right,” he says, finally. “Less talking, more making out.”

Just like that, he’s lost in Derek. And he wants to believe that Derek is just as lost in him. It’s probably true, since they don’t hear Scott coming up the stairs, and that was an awkward encounter he could have saved for a later date.

 

~

 

When Stiles sings in Derek’s shower later, it’s a completely different kind of song—it’s certainly not Carly Rae Jepsen. It’s something unique to him and Derek and whatever this is that they’ve started. It could end horribly—both of them knows what it’s like to lose what you love most and that affects them in ways most people can’t understand. Still, they’re living with what they’ve got, and for them, well, that’s pretty good. 


End file.
